Blood & Steel
by Katherine Loving
Summary: Formerly Settling Old Debts. Sara and Saoirse, two whose lives revolve around the mythical bracelet, are about to collide. Blood, memories, and examined emotions abound!
1. Nightmares Pt 1

Blood & Steel - Nightmares: Part 1

A/N: I've just started going back through my stories, and reworking the ones that I have on I won't be reworking the first chapter, but the subsequent chapters will be altered slightly to reflect my growth as a writer. You might see a little change, but it should be for the better (I hope).

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HIGHLANDER OR WITCHBLADE!

_"_Why was I one of the chosen ones?  
Until the fight I could not see  
The magic and the strength of my power  
It was beyond my wildest dreams."

- "Dark Wings" by Within Temptation

_Flames.__ Fire. Glinting steel. A resigned expression. This was meant to happen. Doesn't mean that she has to like it. _

_ "Niamh! No!" The face of one she loved. _

_ Joan. Cathain. Cleopatra. Blood on her hands, the urge for power fluxing through her veins. _

_ A familiar face, bending over her hand, kissing it, while asking, quietly, "Do I know you?"_

_ Conchobar. Ian. Blood and fire. Lifetimes passing before her eyes._

_ One last face, so achingly familiar that she tried to cling to it. "Arnostos." _

_ "Because of who you are, you will be sought after, you will be hunted, you will be forced to kill, and to endure countless centuries alone." _That_ voice, well-known to both of them._

"NO!"

On two different continents, in two different cities, two completely different women bolted up in bed, sweat dripping from them, nightmares still echoing in their heads.

One, a detective, devoted to her work, searching for answers to ancient questions, and trying to come to terms with her newest piece of jewelry, a weapon with it's own legend and it's own temperament, if the swirling stone was to be an indicator of it's moods. Her features were dark and moody, her hair dark brown and her eyes even darker. Watched by a protector who felt something for her, but was restricted by a tyrant from exposing anything about himself to her. Guided by a ghost of a best friend, trying not to crack under the pressure of keeping her secrets to herself, and not being able to share them with the new partner, the one she was supposed to depend on.

The other, a living legend, working secretly to keep from being discovered and keep her life to herself. Content to live in the past, where those she loved and had been loved by lived on, even though they were dead. Her history, when she thought about it, was bloody, but not as bloody as some. She knew things, things that none but one of her advanced age could know, about mythical objects and unsuspecting pawns in games being played by beings who she didn't even know of. Her first name, the one the legend knew her by, one she detested and despised, forcing her to remember a time when she'd been too weak and helpless to defend herself, reminding her of a promise that she'd made to herself, that she would be stronger and no longer helpless. Her hair is reddish-brown, and her eyes brown.

They're very similar, and yet so very different. United by a simple piece of metal, and about to meet in a collision course from one's past.

Sara Pezzini, meet Saoirse Ramirez. History is about to catch up with you both.


	2. Nightmares Pt 2

Blood & Steel: Chapter 1 – Nightmares Pt. 2

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN WITCHBLADE (hey, if I did, it'd still be on the air, dammit!) OR HIGHLANDER!

* * *

"No one knows where my story begins

Bohemienne

I was born on a road that bends

Bohemienne, bohemienne

Come tomorrow, I'll wander again

Bohemienne, bohemienne

Here's my fate in the lines of my hands"

- "Bohemienne" from _Notre Dame de Paris_

* * *

Saoirse pressed a hand against her heart, willing it to slow. She briefly shut her eyes against the sunlight streaming through her windows, cursing herself for inviting the nightmare with a mid afternoon nap. She briefly had to remind herself where she was; for a minute, she'd thought that she was back in Ireland, in her mother's stronghold.

Instead, she was in a two-story apartment on the Seine, in Paris, and she was a member of the Watchers, an organization dedicated to recording the lives of Immortals. And she was there to translate documents relating to the existence of Niamh, supposedly the oldest female Immortal currently alive.

_'Adam would be laughing his ass off at the Watchers for this one,'_ she thought, smiling wryly as she climbed out of bed, pulling on a loose pair of low-slung jeans and a thick sweater against the chill that had crept in overnight. She tried to ignore the nearly transparent male figure floating close to her armoire, attempting to sneak a peek into her underwear drawer. _'Pervert,'_ she thought, slamming the drawer shut just as he leaned down to peer in. Being a ghost, he wasn't hurt, but she could feel him aim a glare at her back.

She descended the winding staircase down to her living room, which also served as her working area, mentally going over the list of projects she still had to complete for the Watchers, ignoring the various ghosts that drifted around her apartment. The desk and most of the floor in front of her was littered with ancient manuscripts and texts, notepads covered in her native language, a primitive form of Gaelic, strewn around, over, and underneath them.

She was rubbing her forehead, thinking where best to start, when her doorbell chimed. The door to her apartment was secluded, away from everything else in its own little hall.

"Adam?" she asked, peering through the peephole and opening the door to her friend.

His smile was classic Adam, a little cocky, very confident, as was his haircut, the same Brutus style she'd known on him forever. He was dressed in jeans, a thick sweater against the chill Paris had in the fall, and a heavy jacket. He was leaning against her doorjamb, as cocky as the oldest living Immortal man was allowed to be.

"Hello, Niamh," he said, drawing out the name.

She simply rolled her eyes, and slammed the door shut.

The doorbell chimed again.

_'Persistent, isn't he?'_ she thought.

She opened the door slowly, sparks shooting from her brown eyes. "I ought to take your head right now for calling me that, Adam," she mumbled, opening the door wide enough for him to come in.

He sighed, his face losing his grin, and went in, silently shutting the door behind him.

Saoirse led him into her work space, not watching him to see if he stepped on any of the prized manuscripts that were strewn all over the floor. "What do you want, Adam?" she asked, sitting at her desk, which, like the floor, was covered in work.

"There's a buzz among the Watchers," he began.

"There's always a buzz among the Watchers, Adam. If it's not you, then it's some rumor about me. Or, Goddess forbid, about the McLeods," she replied, waving the news away as she turned to start sorting her work.

"It's not just you or me this time, Saoirse. It's something bigger. Someone's been killing Watchers, looking for information about a certain Immortal female." Adam said, his brown eyes studying the woman who was as legendary as he was. He perched on the edge of her desk, waiting for her to take in the information he'd just spoken.

"I really wish Amanda would keep a low profile for once." Saoirse said, idly eyeing some of the translations she had been working on the night before.

"They aren't looking for Amanda. They, who ever they are, are looking for information on Niamh."

"They're looking for information on _me_?" _That_ got her attention away from what she'd been hired by the Watchers to do, and on to the case at hand.

"It would seem so. Everyone who's even so much as looked at the file on you is scared all to hell." Adam replied, watching her carefully.

Saoirse stood and began to pace, trying to make sense of what she'd heard. "It was bound to happen, Adam." He opened his mouth, but she kept talking. "After all, the second oldest living Immortal. Who _wouldn't_ want that prize?" She was pacing more quickly, her mind working. "I mean, I've been hunted before. I can handle this." She looked right at him, and for just an instant, Adam saw a bit of fear in her eyes. He reached out, grabbing her by the shoulder and halting her.

"Niamh." That name, that one word, had the ability to halt her in her tracks. "From what the Watchers are telling me, this is an Immortal who came into being a little over a hundred years ago."

_'It can't be,'_ she thought. _'It's not possible.'_ She echoed that same thought out loud. "There had to have been Immortals around that time that came into their Immortality." Adam just shook his head, and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly grainy color image. He set it on the desk, open and unfolded, waiting for Saoirse to pick it up.

She looked at it, almost fearfully, and reached for it.

"Where was this taken?" she asked quietly, smoothing the creases out of the picture.

"Outside a Watcher's home, right before the woman and her family were killed." Adam replied. "We're lucky she was cautious enough to keep a security camera running at all times."

The face was hauntingly familiar. Blond hair, an obsessively trimmed blond mustache (almost unidentifiable in the picture, it was so faint), and the walk of a would-be member of London's upper echelons. The attempt at appearing up-to-date with the clothes and the hairstyle were easily recognizable.

"Darius Krawler." She whispered the name, as if in fear. The eyes she turned to Adam were haunted. "He's looking for me? But why?"

"None of his victims have lived to tell why he's searching for you," he replied. She collapsed into the chair, her hands and shoulders shaking slightly. Adam knelt in front of her, taking her hands, which had become like ice, in his. "He's also hunting down Immortals. He's breaking the rules of the Game, the way he's taking their heads. He's breaking the most holy rule."

"He's killing on Holy Ground." She blinked a couple of times, and seemed to snap out of her reverie. Her brown eyes, usually sparkling with some unknown joke, now seemed determined. "Where is he?"

"He's in New York City." She stood quickly, almost throwing Adam off balance in the process. She was climbing the stairs to her bedroom when Adam stopped her. "You can't just rush off, Saoirse. The Society will need a reason."

"Tell them there's been a death in the family." She paused, thinking. "Just don't let them know that if I don't go, there will be more deaths in our family." She continued, reaching the landing before he spoke again.

"There's something else!" Adam almost yelled up the stairs. "I take it you remember the Witchblade?"

Saoirse closed her eyes, gripping the banister –

_There was so much pain, she realized, as the blade entered her heart. She looked up at the Wielder's face, who was trying to put on a show of not caring about the young woman she was killing. All for her mother's benefit._

_Searing pain, and awakening again. _

_Hearing the bracelet hiss every time she came near it, as if it condemned her for something that she had no control over._

"Yes, I remember." She turned her eyes haughty. "What about it?"

"Immortals who know about it in New York City have told me that the new Wielder is on the case. If you want anything done, you'll have to deal with her."

_'And the mythical weapon that made you what you are today,'_ her mind graciously filled in for her.  
"Then I'll deal with all of them at the same time. The Witchblade made me Immortal, Adam. It does not control me," she replied. Saoirse continued on to her bedroom, with every intention of packing. "Please call the airport and make arrangements for the first flight out of Paris, to New York City," she asked, raising her voice to make it carry the distance down to Adam.

"Where will you stay?" he asked, coming up the stairs.

"I'll think of something." She had no idea what she was going to do, but she hadn't lived for over four thousand years by depending on other people to get her through. "It looks like, after so long, I'm reentering the Game," she murmured. The ghosts around her moved out of her path, as if afraid of being contaminated by her.

Saoirse didn't hear Adam come up behind her, invading the sacrosanct area of her bedroom and dressing area.

"Why does it have to be you that goes off to New York?" he demanded from the doorway.

She started slightly, then turned to look at him. "It _has_ to be me. He won't accept anyone else," she replied, turning back to her packing.

"What makes you think that?"

"He's wanted my head since he made me watch him kill his first Immortal." She sighed, her packing slowing. "I thought he died that night, Adam. I _wanted_ him to be dead, to not be able to absorb the Quickening. I showed him what he could be by killing in front of him." She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the feeling of betrayal to her kind to fade away again.

"I remember that. It was the only time you broke your promise to not participate in the Game ever again." Adam said softly.

"And I only helped his lunacy when I told him about the Immortals – and the Watchers." Saoirse glanced at him. "I made him, even if it was indirectly. It's time I finished what I started."


	3. Repercussions of Those Nightmares

Blood & Steel: Chapter 2 – Repercussions of Those Nightmares

A/N: I decided that it's time for Sara to come into the picture, as well as Gabriel. This is being written from my heart, and in my heart it's a Gabriel and Saoirse piece. I just love the character of Gabriel, and I decided that he didn't need to get screwed over anymore.

A/N 2: I've edited this story again, and an reposting it. I thought I needed to make the characters grow a little more.

DISCLAIMER: See the first two parts if you REALLY wanna know.

* * *

- "Be still, my son  
Youre home  
Oh when did you become so cold?  
The blade will keep on descending  
All you need is to feel my love"

- - "_The Poet and the Pendulum"_ by Nightwish

* * *

Sara shot up in bed, her heart pounding. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to remember where she was. She glanced around, and sighed in relief. She was in her apartment, in her own bed, not feeling the flames licking on her feet, and not watching a young girl die on the end of the Witchblade's sword, to the perverted amusement of a black-haired woman.

'_Just another dream,'_ she thought. She smiled to herself, and unwillingly, her eyes drifted to the fire escape, and the figure that might be perched out there. It was empty tonight, and she was glad. She had no intention of showing just how much that dream had shaken her.

Her phone rang, and she picked it up, silently cursing whoever was on the other end, even though she was already awake.

"Pezzini."

"Pez, it's Jake. You know I wouldn't wake you up-," her surfer boy partner said.

"Yeah, it must be urgent. Who died?" Sara interrupted.

"I'll let you know when you get here. Hotel Mon Diego, on 12th Street. Thirteen floor." Jake said.

"I thought hotels didn't have a thirteenth floor."

"This one does, although that may be changing soon." He hung up, and Sara glared at the clock. 2 am.

'_Four hours of sleep.'_ She glanced down at the Witchblade, which flickered briefly. '_And none of it restful.'_

She climbed out of bed, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

She arrived on her Buell, her eyes momentarily blinded by the flashing lights of the black and whites. She took her helmet off, and flashed her badge at the officer standing watch over the entrance to the hotel.

She had a chance in the elevator to think about the dream that had brought her out of the first sound sleep she'd had in a couple of months. The young woman in the dream had seemed so…innocent. So untouched by the world around her. If Sara closed her eyes (which she really didn't want to do at the moment. She might find herself asleep against the wall of the elevator), she could hear a young man's voice crying out a name, or what sounded like a name. They had been in a hall, a giant place that reminded her of Irons's room at his mansion, a room that was always cold despite the fire that seemed to be continuously roaring in the fireplace. And Sara had not been welcome in that place, she also remembered that much.

Jake was waiting for her outside the elevator when the door opened.

Unfortunately, _he_ was wide-awake and perky. She'd have to remember to tell him to knock off the midnight coffee binges.

She glared at him, and stopped in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest, her helmet dangling from one hand. "Okay, so tell me who died."

Jake opened the door, saying, "The night's entertainment, from all appearances."

A young woman, an exotic dancer from the looks of her clothing, a pair of skin tight Lycra shorts in bright green and a tiny electric blue shirt, was lying on what remained of a glass-topped coffee table. Well, her body was on the table. Her black hair covered head was a couple of feet away, her blue eyes glazed over in terror. She took in the scene, and once again marveled at the savageness of humanity.

"So, want me to tell you the current COD?" Jake asked. Sara glanced at him.

"The table or decapitation?"

"Right now, neither."

_That_ raised her eyebrows. "Okay, I'll bite. What do you think killed her, rookie?"

Jake nodded to a purse, so bright green that Sara had to wonder how she'd missed it, that was sitting on an end table. In front of it was a large vial, a mirror, and a razorblade. "From just what I've seen, she and her customer had a little pick-me-up before she performed for him."

"How do you know it's a male?" Sara asked. He pulled out a notebook, flipping it open.

"The room's under the name Arnostos," Jake stumbled slightly over the name, "Catoro. Lady at the front desk said that the person who signed for the room was male."

Sara's mind was flying, absorbing all the information, when she saw an odd-looking tattoo on the girl's left wrist.

"Hey, Franks." The CSI photographer came over. "Can you get that for me?" She pointed at the tattoo.

"Sure, Detective." He snapped off a couple shots, then moved on.

"What kind of tattoo is that?" Jake asked, kneeling next to the body.

"Not sure. I don't think I've ever seen one like this before," she replied, snapping on gloves to lift the wrist for a closer look. "It's on the inside of the wrist. This must've hurt like hell."

The tattoo wasn't intricate, but it was pretty. It had what looked like a bird, done in blue, flying towards the wrist, surrounded by what looked like armor rivets.

'_She must've bled for days,'_ Sara thought, laying a hand around the wrist, covering the tattoo.

'"_Who are you?" a female voice, most likely the victims', demanded, clawing at hands clutched around her throat._

"_I am that which should not be, Watcher," a male voice, almost hissing, replied. "Tell me about the Ancient."_

"_What Ancient?" she asked_

"_Niamh. The Ancient."_

"_She's a myth! Just like Methos! She doesn't exist!" The woman's voice was too terrified for her to lie. _

"_She _does_! I have seen her! Where is she?" he demanded, wrapping his hands more firmly around her throat._

"_Niamh _doesn't _exist!"_

There the vision ended.

Sara blinked a couple of times, to clear her vision, and saw Jake looked at her strangely.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She rose from her crouch, unwilling to show just how much the vision had thrown her. "Look, if you've got everything here, I'm gonna split, ok?"

"Sure, Pez."

Somehow, she made her way to the elevator, and pressed down. The car was, thankfully, empty.

"You've _gotta_ be losing it this time, Pez," she said aloud, pressing her back against the mirrored wall of the elevator.

"You're not losing it, Sara," Danny's voice said. Sara jumped, and glared at the ghost of her deceased partner.

"Damn it, Danny! I _hate_ it when you do that!" she exclaimed.

He smiled. "Gotta keep your on your toes, partner," he said.

"Yeah? Well, next time, do it when I've had more than four hours of sleep, ok?" She glanced at the mirror behind Danny, disconcerted when she didn't see his reflection. She sighed, and closed her eyes, saying, "So what terrible news are you here to deliver this time, oh Wise Asian Master?"

"Someone's coming." It was such a blunt statement, so to the point, that it actually threw Sara.

"What?" She cracked an eye, glaring at him.

"Someone's coming. Someone's who connected with this new case, in more ways than either you or she wants to admit." Danny said.

_That_ sounded more like the normal fair of clues.

"So she's connected to my case. So?"

"She also has a long history with your bracelet. The two are closely intertwined, so close that they almost share the same history." Sara stared at him.

"_What_?"

The lights on the elevator panel that showed the floor were getting closer to the first floor.

"Another thing, Pez. She'll be able to see me, even when you can't. If you think you have incriminating ghosts hanging around you, you better get rid of them." Danny said.

"She can see ghosts? Like the whole _Sixth Sense_ thing?"

"Yeah."

The elevator doors binged open, and Danny disappeared.

Sara shook her head, her helmet banging against her thigh, and made her way out of the hotel.

'_I've really got to get more sleep!'_ she thought.

She didn't see the lithe form, encased all in black, that was hiding in the shadows around the hotel, or the way his eyes followed her. She most definitely didn't see or hear him open his cell phone, and dial a number.

"She's left the hotel, Mr. Irons," Ian Nottingham said.

"Follow her, Ian."

He clicked the phone off, and, depositing it in his coat, took to the rooftops, the Protector protecting the Wielder once again.

The 11th precinct was more crowded than she'd thought it be. But, then, it'd been about a century since she'd actually been into any police station at all.

Saoirse had never thought that she'd be in New York again, but here she was.

She'd been on the red eye from Paris all night, listening to the hum of the engines, and thinking about things that she hadn't given mind space to in a _very_ long time. Thinking about Arnostos, how much she'd loved him – and how, without realizing it, she'd betrayed the love that they'd made and shared. All because of a charming blonde-haired aristocratic wannabe who'd ultimately betrayed _her_.

And now she was here to see what information they had, and help if she could. After all, Darius may be an amateur, but last she'd known, he wasn't stupid.

She walked up to the front desk, giving the desk clerk her best smile. He didn't smile back, but his mood did seem to lift. "Hello…" she leaned over the desk slightly, glancing at his badge in the process, "Sergeant Clarkson." She smiled at him again, a little wider this time. "I need to see Detective Sara Pezzini, about one of her cases."

He just looked at her, and said, "What name?"

"Saoirse Ramirez," she replied, keeping her face friendly, although she let her smile leave.

He picked up a phone, dialed a phone number, and waited. Saoirse turned away, taking in the environment of the station. Her satchel, draped over her shoulder and filled with all the necessities that she needed for traveling, banged against her leg as she wiggled it, having found out some three thousand years earlier that a simple physical action kept her from bouncing off the walls with nervous energy. The atmosphere of the police station amazed her, as it always did when she entered a place of justice, bribery, and smoke.

The scuffed floor bore testament to the amount of traffic the station has seen in its life so far. The air was almost heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke, curses, and sweat. It was a world apart from hers, and one that she was entering hesitantly, although willingly, if only to stop something that she herself had brought about.

She heard the desk sergeant curse, and slam down the phone. She turned back to him, asking, "Problem?"

"Our phone system has been on the fritz all freakin' day! I just lost Detective Pezzini. I'll try her on her cell phone." He sighed, and looked at her. "You might just want to have a seat. This may take a while."

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Saoirse settled on to the nearest bench, and pulled some of her translating work out of her satchel. There was no danger of anyone spying what she was doing. She was currently one of three people on the face of the earth who could read the ancient tome, and all of them were employed by the society of Watchers.

She quickly became so immersed in the translations of her own history that she didn't notice when someone stopped and leaned over her, trying to decipher her work.

"Ancient Syrian?" The male voice jarred her violently out of her work. Saoirse jumped a little, making the book slide to the floor, along with three pages of notes, written in her native tongue.

She looked up, and was caught in the intelligent brown eyes looking down at her. Her breath stopped, as did her heart. She swallowed, wet her lips, and replied, softly, "No, actually. I think it's twelfth century Hindi." More like ninth, but he didn't need to know that. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly reopened them, taking in more than just his eyes this time.

His face wasn't what would be termed handsome in the conventional meaning of the words. His smile was engaging without being irritating, genuine because it reached all the way to his eyes. He was tall, something she figured out from the way he was bending over her. And he meant her no harm. He was simply curious.

'_Like Arnostos…,'_ her mind injected. She pushed the thought away, and concentrated on the man in front of her. Who's appearance actually bore a startling resemblance to Arnostos.

"Twelfth century Hindi? How do you learn that?" he asked.

"Determination, mostly." Saoirse gave a slight laugh, and decided that it was time she introduced herself. "I'm Saoirse Ramirez."

"Gabriel Bowman, antiques dealer. I run he replied.

"I'm a translator for a small college in Paris." It was her stock answer, vague but not too vague. She bent down to gather up her notes and the book.

"Really?" Gabriel bent down, picking up the book before she could reach it. He examined it, taking in the cracker leather and extravagant detailing on the cover, to the handwritten and hand drawn pages. "Wow," he whispered. He looked at her, his eyes wide. "This is – It's –,"

"It's the original book. It's almost seven hundred years old." Saoirse said. She reached for the tome, and Gabriel glanced down at her wrist.

"Cool tattoo," he said. She jerked back, and realized that she'd used the arm that bore the Watcher tattoo.

"Uh…thanks."

"Gabriel!" He looked over her shoulder, and Saoirse turned at the sound of a female's raised voice.

_Cathain_…_Cleopatra…All the Wielders flashed in front of her eyes. Overshadowing all of them was the face of this Wielder_. Saoirse blinked rapidly, and her vision cleared.

"Hey, Chief!" Gabriel raised a hand to wave, and Saoirse took the opportunity to grab the Hindi tome. She shoved it into her satchel, along with her notes. She took a deep breath, and smiled in what she hoped was an open manner at the approaching detectives.

"Detective Pezzini?"

The female detective turned to her, and Saoirse could still the reflection of the Wielders in her green eyes.

"Yes?"

"I'm Saoirse Ramirez. I am – or, rather, _was_ – a friend of Sebastiana Florenti. I was informed that you're currently investigating her murder." She dug into her satchel, and pulled out a business card that simply had her name, her occupation, and her phone number on it. "I was wondering if you had information that you could give me."

"Uh, yeah. I'm afraid that we can't release any information right -," Sara started.

"Detective Pezzini, has anyone else claiming to be her family come forward?" Sara wasn't able to answer that. "I was the only family Sebastiana had. I _need_ to know what happened." Saoirse replied. Not exactly a lie. The Watchers, even those who didn't have any Immortals to watch, considered themselves a family. They lived lives that defied reality, knew about events that no one else would. They were a power, and society, unto themselves. "Please."

Sara sighed, and glanced at Jake. He shrugged, letting her know that this was her call. She looked back at Saoirse, and, for just a minute, didn't see the young woman standing in front of her. The vision slammed into her.

The woman was about the same size, but her hair was dark brown, and longer, almost down to her waist. Her eyes still sparked with power, power that didn't come from any magical object, like hers' did from the Witchblade. She crouched, as she'd seen the warriors do many times, but she held her blade with no skill. Underneath the power in her eyes, fear was tangible.

"Kill her, whelp! Kill her or be killed!"

Sara had never heard that voice before, but, in that instant, she never, ever, wanted to hear it again.

"Mother, I can't!" the young woman cried.

"Do it, silly girl!"

"Mother, please! Don't make me do this!" Her eyes carried such fear, all the while sparking with this unknown power, that Sara's heart ached for her.

The girl took a deep breath, and lunged at Sara, swinging her sword in a wide arc that, if there'd be any intent behind it, would've taken her head off.

Without Sara realizing it, the Witchblade transformed into it's sword form. It was cueing her to drive the sword into the girl's stomach, even as it deflected the sloppily swung blow. More blows were exchanged, and she was able to hold her ground easily against this girl, almost a woman, who's swings were growing desperate.

'For your future, for the sake of this girl who was raised to wield me and who cannot, end this now!' The voice of the Witchblade echoed in her mind.

'So be it.' Sara thought back. She pulled her arm back to deliver the killing blow…'

She blinked rapidly twice, trying desperately to clear her mind. Saoirse was watching her, almost carefully, as if she knew what was going on in her mind. Gabriel was just waiting, as much as he'd gotten used to these visions. And Jake…well, Jake looked kinda freaked out.

She was close. He could feel her moving around, almost like she was a part of him.

Blond lashes closed over blue eyes, his eyes rolling back in his head, as if in ecstasy.

He could almost taste her blood on his lips. He wet his fingers in the blood of his latest kill, and painted it onto his lips. It was sweet, but not as sweet as he knew her blood would be.

He smeared her blood over the tattoo on her wrist, not willing to look at the mark of a society of those who didn't have the guts to live for themselves, and instead lived through the Immortals they recorded.

"You're next, Niamh. I can feel you. You're here. I wonder…" his voice trailed off, as if in thought, "did you bring the elder one with you? You know, your best friend. The one who made you into the skilled liar you are today. I hope you did. That would be quite a prize – two of the eldest Immortals with one blow." His growing laugh was maniacal.

In the 11th precinct, Saoirse felt a cold chill race down her spine, as if someone was walking over her grave. And she feared that, all too soon, that would be true.

As, always, r&r is well appreciated!


	4. Remember When It Rained

Blood & Steel: Chapter 3 –Remember When It Rained

A/N: If you can't tell by now, I name almost all of my chapters after songs that inspire me. Sometimes, all you have to do is look at the lyrics of a song to understand why it motivated me. Kinda like the one I used for this one. I wasn't really happy with the fact that it's taken me so long to get around to having Gabriel and Saoirse meet, so I've decided to speed things up a bit.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: See the first two chapters for the disclaimer.

* * *

"Wash away the thoughts inside

That keep my mind away from you

No more love and no more pride

And thoughts are all I have to do

Remember when it rained

I felt the ground and looked up high and called your name

Remember when it rained

In the darkness I remain"

- "Remember When It Rained" by Josh Groban

* * *

Translation of Gaelic: a ghrá mo chroí – Love of my heart

Translation of German: Mein Liebe – my love

* * *

Gabriel glanced at Saoirse Ramirez out of the corner of his eyes, trying to figure out the puzzle that she presented. How many people did he know who could even _recognize_ twelfth century Hindi, much less translate it? Not many, and most of his friends would even admit it, the rare case being Sara. He'd gotten a glimpse of Saoirse's notes when she'd dropped the book, and they were written in what looked like Gaelic, although a primitive form of it. No one _he_ knew, knew how to write in primitive Gaelic!

Not to mention that she didn't look old enough to be a translator at a college; that, when her cell phone had gone off, she'd answered it in French, quickly switching to Spanish when she realized who was on the other end, or that she sometimes seemed to drift off, listening to something no one else could hear.

She didn't look like a dusty old scholar, with her reddish-brown hair pulled back into two pigtails, her brown eyes lively with intelligence and maybe something else. She couldn't have been more than 22, topping out at five foot four, seeming swallowed in a thick black sweater, scarf, jeans, and a hefty pair of boots. But something about her…

"Gabriel?" Sara was speaking to him, and he jerked his attention back from where it had wandered. Saoirse seemed just as surprised as he did that he'd gotten caught staring at her; her cheeks turned a bright red. Her eyes flicked up, noting something on the dry-erase board across the office. "What do you think?"

"Sorry, Chief. I wasn't listening. What?" he replied.

"I was asking you about the tattoo on the girl's wrist. That's what you're here to tell me about, right?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. I would've called you, but the phones here are on the fritz." He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a printout. "It's relatively obscure. I haven't been able to determine if the image in the middle is a bird or a 'W'. It seems to be completely new, not a gang tattoo or a significant marking on any object I've seen." He looked up from the printout. His eyes focused on Saoirse, and flicked down to where the sleeve of her shirt covered her wrist. '_I should tell Sara that she has the same tattoo…'_ he thought. Something inside him warned against it.

Saoirse wasn't listening. She didn't even notice his attention on her wrist. She was watching Gabriel's hands, with their long fingers, play across the crumpled printout, and remembering someone else's hands. How'd they'd glided over her bare shoulder, above the neckline of the gown she'd worn for the ball that night, and had elicited a gasp as electricity flew from him to her.

She had to take a deep breath to bring her back to the present, and to the office where the Wielder resided.

"Okay, so the tat is a dead end." Sara turned watchful eyes to Saoirse. "Miss Ramirez, -,"

"Saoirse, please. I feel ancient when people call me Miss Ramirez." She smiled at the detective, and mentally added, '_Even though I am.'_

"Saoirse. What do you know about Miss Florenti's lifestyle? Besides work, was there anyone she spoke of? Did she lead an active life outside work?"

She searched her mind, trying to come up with the right words. She spoke slowly, piecing her thoughts together. "This is just what I remember from when I would visit her and when she would call to talk to me. Keep in mind, I've lived in Paris for the last three years. Tina loved being single and active. She was always on the VIP list of any club in town, and they all treated her as a respected guest. From what she told me, none of them knew how she came by her money, just that she always seemed to have quite a bit of it." She thought again, especially about a comment Tina had made the last time she'd contacted her. She thought she'd found Mr. Right, and Saoirse had been happy for her. "She mentioned a boyfriend the last time she called me. A new one, which didn't come as a surprise. She had a new one every week or so, it seemed."

"When was the last time she called you?"

Saoirse glanced at her watch, then calculated in her head. "About…three days ago. She'd mentioned that her boyfriend was treating her to a special night. Dinner, dancing, and actual conversation, something Tina didn't always get in her line of work. I take it that you already know that Tina was an escort by trade."

Jake nodded in confirmation, opening a folder. "The service that she got her clients through told us that she had informed them that she had an unscheduled 'date' that night. The name she gave them was a regular of hers, they told us."

"Oh? Can you tell me that name? I might know it. Hell, it might be her boyfriend, and she didn't want her service to find out that she was giving it out for free," she asked. Jake started looking through the file, searching for the name.

"There was a rule against her dating outside the service?" Sara asked.

"Most definitely. Tina made her living with her body, and she made _very_ good money at it. A portion of that went to her service. If she went out on a regular date, that would be money the service was losing." Saoirse replied.

"Here it is. The name is Arno-Arnas," Jake was stumbling over the name.

"Arnostos Catoro?" Saoirse finished.

"You know him?" Sara asked. The fact that she'd managed to say the name without any problem, coupled with her vision, was enough to justify her to Sara.

Saoirse looked at Gabriel, then back to the detectives. "To say it has been a long time since I've heard that name would be an extreme understatement."

'"_My name is Baron Gloemoor, Arnostos Catoro. And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." She could still see him bending over her hand, his eyes meeting hers with a sly smile. He had been dashingly attired, appropriate for the court of Queen Victoria, and perfectly polite…until he'd decided to make his own introductions, foregoing the requisite third party introductions. That alone had made the room grow considerably quieter. _

"_You flatter me, my lord," Saoirse sarcastically replied, gently pulling her hand out of his grasp. She could almost feel the anger radiating off of Darius Krawler, her escort for the night. "A baron? How impressive." She kept the sarcastic tone, casting a glance at Darius that told him to calm down._

"_And you are, my lady?" His dark eyes danced with mischief, and Saoirse almost started to laugh. He knew exactly what he was doing to Darius, and he enjoyed it. _

'_Fair enough. He's earned at least my name,' she thought, smirking behind her fan. "I am Lady Saoirse Falcor." He quirked an eyebrow, and she added, "Widowed."_

"_Gloemoor. I've never heard of that barony." Darius's voice was like an artic wind. Saoirse almost shuddered from the chill. _

"_It is in Bavaria, on the eastern border." Arnostos' tone was still jovial, as if he didn't notice Darius's had taken on an edge. Or, if he did, he simply did not care._

_Saoirse, however, _had _heard of it, and its rulers were well known for their ruthlessness. At least, they had been when she'd made the mistake of passing through about fifty years ago. But this one…something in his eyes reminded her of Con. And she couldn't resist aiming one of her brightest smiles right at him, just to make Darius a tad bit jealous. _

"Do you remember him at all? A physical description?" Jake asked, bringing her out of her quick remembrance.

"What I remember is only from what images I have seen, and those have been of a tall, dark man. From my studies, he was very engaging, and quite brilliant." '_No one will ever know how dear he was.' _"But not, from what I know of him, one who would just decide to pick up a gun and start hurting people," she said. "He _was_ very gentle."

'_He _was, _wasn't he? You hurt him enough when you went to Darius. After all you had together, you went back to Darius, just like he always thought you would,' _her mind filled in. She pushed the voice aside.

"Was?" Sara asked, leaning forward.

"That you are asking me about him now makes me wonder what events have occurred that you would inquire as to his recent behavior." Saoirse said, blatantly avoiding the question.

"Mr. Catoro is suspected of a crime. I'm not at liberty to tell you what exactly he is being suspected of, but we would like to know his whereabouts and background," she replied.

"His whereabouts aren't a mystery, nor is his background, Detective." Her cell phone beeped, and Saoirse pulled it out of her satchel to glance at the caller ID. She cursed in Gaelic, then said, "If you'll please excuse me, Detectives, an urgent matter has just come up that requires my attention."

"Why is he so easy to find? Is he innocent?" Jake couldn't help asking.

Saoirse looked at him with eyes that suddenly didn't seem quite so all seeing, one hand on the doorknob of the office and the other on her cell phone, holing it close to her body. "Detective McCarthy, Arnostos Catoro is buried in a graveyard just outside of London, England. He has been there for quite some time." She pushed the door open, and stepped through, shutting it gently behind her.

Sara looked at Jake, then at the closed door. "_Please_ tell me I'm not the only one who thought that was a teaser," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"You think she was baiting us?" Jake asked. "Why?"

"Shits and giggles, for all I know." She was already firing up her Internet. "We can find out about Arnostos Catoro, though. Any plots should be listed."

"That depends on how old the plot is, and whether local records will have anyone under that name listed." Gabriel said. His eyes trailed after Saoirse, almost as if he wanted to follow her.

"Considering the name, I think they'll have it listed. Arnostos Catoro can't exactly be the most common name in England, now can it?" Jake replied.

Gabriel waited until Sara and Jake were both deep in conversation about the possible lead (or dead, no pun intended, end, depending on how you looked at it) before he made some random noises about needing to get some work done and left the office. Already very familiar with the police department, he wound his way out and down, his eyes searching the crowd for a pair of reddish-brown pigtails and a black sweater. He couldn't find her. It was like she'd just – vanished.

Saoirse climbed out of a cab, looking up at the store windows. 'Nash Antiques' was written quietly across the windows in frost, giving no mention to the priceless antiques that were sealed inside. Not to mention one antique who currently resided inside. She could feel him, the strange buzz that accompanied all Immortals when they approached another of their kind, ringing at a different resonance; deeper, like an old bell. She knew he could feel her as well.

She pushed open the door, faintly hearing a bell chime her presence. She made sure the door was shut behind before she said anything.

"Connor?" she called. The numerous valuables absorbed the sound, dulling the echoing effect that old large buildings have. "Connor McLeod?" Saoirse wound her way through the maze of antiques, careful to not upset any of them. Her boots made no sound on the lush, deep carpet. She made a mental note to walk around barefoot later, since she rarely got the chance to walk on antique Persian rugs barefoot.

When her English received no reply, she switched to a tongue that the elder McLeod would have a hard time ignoring. "'Dammit, Connor, show yourself!'" she yelled in the Scots tongue that he'd grown up hearing.

"'You'd think, for one as old as yourself, that you would have more patience with an old man,'" a male voice, full of laughter, said from above her.

"You're not a day older than six hundred, Connor McLeod." But there was no harshness in Saoirse's voice. It rang with familiarity, and friendship. She looked up, smiling back at a man who had died, the first time, in his early-to-mid-twenties. He was leaning over the railing, smiling down on her. His brown eyes were still bright,

"Just as you're not a day older than forty-five hundred. C'mon up, Saoirse. We've much to discuss, if you're here for what I think you are," he replied.

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, sitting on Connor's couch, her head in her hands and a weary look on her face. "I honestly thought he'd die off, Connor. I kept hoping I would hear that he'd been killed, that _someone_ had finally taken his head, or that he would've dropped off the face of the planet, content to sink into legend, as so many we older ones did." She pushed her hands through her hair, and glanced at the man who was so much younger than she, but a tried and true ally nonetheless.

"What does your heart tell you?" His voice was quiet, without a trace of judgment.

"That he's alive and well. That he's waiting for me, searching for me. Wanting to settle a score that I had no clue about ever incurring." She sighed, and reached the cup of hot chocolate that he'd set on the coffee table. Then, watching him carefully, she added, "I ran into Arnostos at the police station."

"_What?!_" Connor nearly splashed himself with his coffee, he jumped so suddenly. "Are you sure?" he demanded, looking at her closely.

"Pretty sure. I saw his soul in someone. I know it was Arnostos, Connor." Saoirse said. "The carrier's name is Gabriel Bowman."

"The name sounds familiar. Hold on," he said, rising. He walked over to a neat-as-a-pin desk, and flipped through some cards. "Bowman, Bowman…ah, here it is. I met him at an auction once. He's a pretty smart kid, as young as he is. Got his card so I'd know my competition." He pulled it out, walking over and setting it down on the table, sitting as he did so.

"What was he bidding against you for?" Saoirse asked, smiling knowingly at Connor's slightly bemused expression.

"How did you know I was bidding on something? For all you know, I could've just been there as a watcher," he replied.

"You like the hunt too much, Connor. You love to beat some new-money collector out of what he'll throw away when the fad for it has passed," she replied. She sipped her cocoa, then said, smiling, "Besides, you forget that I've been at the same auctions as you. I've seen your style. So, what did he bid against you for?"

"An old sword that was rumored to have been crafted by Ramirez." Connor spoke quietly, as he always did of the man who taught him so much about being Immortal.

'_Taught you and me both quite a bit about living this way, old friend'_ she thought.

"Was it and did you win it?" she asked.

"No, to both. It was a bad replica, which Bowman picked up on before I did. The man who wound up winning it wouldn't have known a katana from a butter knife." Connor replied.

Saoirse smiled. "Then he deserved to win it."

"So, what are you doing to do about Krawler? You can't just leave him to the wind."

Her smile faded, and she leaned back against the couch, sighing. "As much I would like to do just that, I know I can't. But I do know one thing. If he and Gabriel come in contact, all hell will break loose. Darius will remember Arnostos, and Gabriel…he's so close in appearance to Arnostos. The same mannerisms, same way he tilts his head." She set her cup of hot chocolate down on the coffee table. "Gabriel won't stand a chance."

Connor tilted his head, looking at her. "You've got circles under your eyes. When was the last time you slept?" he asked softly.

"I might have slept on the way over, I don't remember." Saoirse glanced at him, her eyes keen. "Since when did you care about whether or not I got enough sleep?"

"Since now. I keep thinking that if I'd had any children, I'd have wanted them to be just like you." Conner replied. He stood. "You're staying at the Watcher house, then?"

"Seemed like the best way to make sure that the Watchers know that I'm still working for them." Saoirse stood as well.

"You know you're welcome to stay here, if you wish. I have a spare bedroom that never gets used, except when Duncan decides to drop in." He gestured down the hall, into the living area that was secluded from the rest of the apartment and store.

"I just might take you up on that, considering. We'll see." She shouldered her bag, and moved around the coffee table to hug Connor hard. "Thanks, McLeod."

"What did I do?" he asked, returning her hug.

"Well, for one thing, you told me what I needed to do. It's one thing to say it to myself, but it's another to hear it from a friend."

The day passed quickly, with Saoirse quickly settling into her rooms at the Watcher house in Manhattan. She unpacked the two suitcases she routinely carried with her, and took out her most prized possession: a sword crafted by Ramirez himself, folded over two hundred times, inlaid with Celtic knot work and her first name, the name that she had despised while living under her mother's rule. He had never told her why he'd carved the name onto the blade, but she had a feeling it had to do with something he'd told her when he'd first mentored her in the more sophisticated ways of immortality.

'_Never forget who you were when you first became Immortal, Niamh,' he said, sharpening his blade as she tried to focus on learning how to read, her finger tracing along the line she was concentrating on. 'Always remember what made you the person that you are today, and what kind of fire you were forged in' She looked up at him, her face confused._

'_The fire that I was forged in?' she asked. _

'_The fire that you were forged in brought about the person that you are. You are young yet, Niamh.' He'd looked up from sharpening his blade, a smile on his face._ '_You will understand as you grow older. There are forces coming that will attempt to destroy you. You must be made stronger by those forces.'_

_She raised an eyebrow, asking, 'Oh, I must, must I?'_

_He laughed, saying, 'You'll understand one day, Niamh. I promise.' His eyes twinkled, lit with a secret that she would only learn in time._

Saoirse smiled at the memory, and sheathed the blade. It had been a trial to get past customs, especially since 9/11, and she'd had to pull out every credential she had on her, including calling in a couple of professors from the Watchers to vouch for her. Those two Watchers knew that she always carried a blade, so they were perfectly happy to vouch for her, but she didn't need them to know (or pass on) that she carried a sword large enough to cut off someone's head.

She heard the patter of rain on the window of her room, and she turned to see a light sprinkle across the panes. From the darkness of the clouds, it was going to rain for the rest of the day and into the night. That was perfect for her. Saoirse slept best to rain. For right now, she could make do with sitting next to the window and listening to one of her favorite CDs; _Closer_ by Josh Groban. She slipped the CD into her portable player, and curled up next to the window, letting his voice, speaking fluent Italian, flow over her.

Feeling the music wash over her, she drifted off, her head dropping forward, and into the dream world, where old friends still lived.

_The blissful silence of the townhouse only magnified the echo of the rain on the roof, creating a world where only Saoirse and Arnostos existed. It went against the rules of society for them to be alone in the same house together, even if Saoirse was a widow, but neither of them had ever really cared for the dictates of the society that scorned them. _

Saoirse stood in front of a giant window, pulling the drapes back slightly, revealing the dark, turbulent sky. Lighting split the sky, and she smiled as she felt the rush of energy that always accompanied a thunderstorm. She placed the palm of her hand against the window, absorbing the coolness of the pane.

Gabriel puttered around his warehouse apartment, doing some mild cleaning (anything too drastic, and he couldn't find anything) and listening to his usual mix of KISS, AC/DC, and old style rock. The patter of rain on the windows and on the roof struck a reassuring rhythm, one that called him to take a nap, something he didn't normally do.

He glanced at his watch, which read seven oh three pm. '_It's too early for me to go to sleep,'_ he thought, even as he yawned hugely. The time he'd spent researching for Sara, and all the time that he was on his computer, was starting to take its toll. He looked longingly at his bed, and made a quick decision. '_If I power nap now, then I can stay up later, and get caught up on some research.'_ Sighing blissfully, he threw himself onto his bed. Sleep wasn't far behind.

_Saoirse felt his presence behind her, as soon as he entered the parlor. She turned away from the magnificent display outside, her wide skirts rustling, and smiled at him. "You're missing the storm."_

_Arnostos smiled back at her, his eyes flickering over to the chess game he'd had to temporarily leave, and noting her pieces' position. "You haven't been cheating again, have you, Saoirse?" he joked lightly, motioning at the dire position she'd placed his king in. His accent wasn't as thick now as it had been when she had first met him, but it was still there, in a turn of phrase, in an argument. It still lent him a fair amount of mystery that drew women like him to flies. She brushed the notion off, along with the twinge of jealousy that came with it. This was Arnostos, who had become a friend to her, in a city where she did not have very many._

"_No need to cheat against you. You always let me win." She turned back at the display outside, entranced. "Look at it." Her voice was soft, reverent of the lightening, for something that had always held a certain amount of appeal for her. It reminded her of an ancient dance, meant to draw down power from the gods, and harness it for the good of the people. This, of course, was back before she'd traveled to Jerusalem with Ramirez. She hadn't converted, but she had seen the wonders a single man with a message of good could do._

"_I let you win, do I?" His voice got closer, and she heard the floorboards creak as he moved across the room, presumably to his lost chess game. "Does Darius ever let you win when you play?" _

_Her smile faded, and she looked into her reflections' eyes, noticing how sad they suddenly became.. "What makes you think Darius plays chess with me?" she replied. In her mind's eyes, she replayed her last conversation with Darius Krawler, a man who had wished to become her betrothed – even if she did not love him. Even if it was against her own wishes. _

_They had hurled accusations at each other at her home, he about Arnostos, and how they spent far too much time together to be just friends. He had tried to play on the assumption that she was like every other girl in the ballrooms of London, and she had come out the victor. She knew he was unfaithful to her, and she'd thrown the information at him, following it with a statement that she could never be faithful to a man who didn't see fit to remain faithful to her._

"_Darius overplayed his hand this last time, didn't he?" Arnostos asked. She jumped slightly, realizing that he was very close behind her. "What did you argue about?" _

"_Oh, the usual things. Marriage, fidelity, friendships." Saoirse turned slightly away from the window, where rain had started to fall. "Darius seems to hold this ridiculous notion that if we were married, he could still carry on any particular liaison that tickled his fancy, while I would be required to play the dutiful – and blind – wife. When I told him that I would require complete fidelity, he scoffed and said it would make him the laughing stock of the _ton_." _

Wash away the thoughts inside

That keeps my mind away from you

No more love and no more pride

And thoughts are all I have to do

"_And what did he say?" he asked. Saoirse bit her lip, holding back, and he smiled. A gentle smile, meant to coerce her into revealing that part of her that was most valuable. "Come now, Saoirse, you know better than to hold out on me. I know you too well at this point to think that you would back down from an argument, especially with someone as arrogant as Darius Krawler. What did he say to that?" _

"_He brought up our friendship. How unfashionable and improper it was, for an unmarried man and woman to be friends, despite the fact that I am a widow. I asked him how mad it might be for a man and a woman to be friends, and he replied that men and women could not be friends. He said that we are two completely different animals, and that there is simply no way to get around that." She smiled a slightly evil smile. "Then I asked him how he could expect us to make a marriage work with no common ground." She looked back out the window, the sound of the rain soothing away her day._

Remember when it rained

I felt the ground and looked up high and called your name

Remember when it rained

In the darkness I remain

"_Do you love him?" This question, completely out of the blue, shocked Saoirse to her core. She spun around, her skirts flying around her, to find Arnostos _very _close behind her. She backed up a couple of steps, feeling her skirts push against the backs of her legs when she ran into the window ledge._

"_Do I love him? Darius Krawler?" She had to repeat the question, if only to make sure that they were the ones she had heard. "What makes you ask, Arnostos?" She tried to act the cool, titled widow that society believed her to be, that Darius believed her to be. Arnostos always saw right past it._

"_You've never spoken of loving anyone, not even your first husband. Do you love Darius Krawler enough to make him your second?" His dark eyes were shuttered against her gaze, but, with a flicker of lightening, she was able to see the tension that moved across his face._

"_I do not love Darius Krawler, Arnostos. I never have. He was, for a time, a good companion. He entertained me." She turned back to the show Mother Nature was putting on outside._

"_And now?"_

"_I think he has tired of me, but my wealth is simply too substantial to pass up. He no longer entertains me, and I find no humor in the man that is now coming to my attention." The floor creaked, and she could almost feel him moving closer._

Tears of hope run down my skin

Tears for you that will not dry

They magnify the one inside

And let the outside slowly die

"_Saoirse – Mien liebe…" he halted, and Saoirse went stiff at his words. No one had called her their love since the Renaissance, at least, when it was fashionable to do so. She'd scorned those men then. She found she could not scorn this one now._

"_Arnostos -," She ground to a halt when she felt his arms wrap around her waist, and pull her close to his body. "What are you doing?" Saoirse asked. She knew perfectly well what he was doing. Darius had tried it already. His touch had merely repulsed her. Arnostos', on the other hand…_

"_I knew you, a long time ago, didn't I?" he asked, his voice a whisper against one of her ears. "I saw you across that ballroom, and my soul leapt. It knew who you were." He hugged her tightly, and Saoirse felt her heart clench. She clasped her hands over his, fighting for the control she would need. "How do I know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry? How do I know that you would fly in the face of all the rules the _ton _considers necessary, all to live your life as you chose?"_

"_A ghrá mo chroí…" she whispered. Saoirse closed her eyes, willing the tears back. Duncan had warned her of this, that eventually Arnostos would realize exactly how he knew her so well. That he would question, and at that time she would have to either tell him, or lose him. "If I told you that I knew you before you were you, before you were this man, would you run?" _

_Before she realized what was happening, Saoirse was spun around, and her brown eyes met Arnostos' black ones. "Am I running, Saoirse?" _

_With that, he kissed her. She could only respond, and damn the consequences of what would lead from that kiss. _

Remember when it rained

I felt the ground and looked up high and called your name

Remember when it rained

In the water I remain

Running down…

Saoirse sank deeper into sleep, hugging her pillow tightly.

On the other side of town, Gabriel tossed a little, then settled. A name escaped on a sigh.

"Saoirse."

Katherine Loving


End file.
